How Sam Winchester Won The World Cup
by tweedpants
Summary: See title - it kind of gives this stupid thing away. Ridiculous, complete and utter stupidity. AU to the max


_This is pure bullshit, pretty much completely OOC the whole way through but I couldn't resist. First inspired by Soccer Aid (and the random thought that wouldn't it be funny if Jared/Jensen did that), then my re-reading of Modern Hoodoo by Guede_mazaka and of course by the start of the World Cup. All future chapters will involve RPF.  
_

_Thank you and goodnight._

Sam had always loved soccer and while Dean tended to make it to every single game Sam played - usually with a girl hanging off his rem, whispering conspiringly into his ear as he sat in the stands - his father had never made it to one. In all the towns they'd briefly called home he'd never once found time between research, hunting or just trying to scrape money together to keep them afloat to make it down to the soccer field and watch his son run circles around the opposition.

He always acted proud though when Sam brought home a trophy or when he listened to Dean give his slightly biased report of the game. Not that he really needed to act proud, he was proud. His youngest was smart, kind and talented. John Winchester did feel guilty more often than not, dragging his sons along on his crusade. He tried not to think about all the missed opportunities his hunting had caused his sons.

Dean had foregone college and John had tried to ignore the packages that littered their mailbox that month they'd stayed in Ashton, they had all held the stamps of various colleges around the country. They'd remained unopened and dumped in the trash as soon as Dean saw them. Only Sam had mentioned it, asking Dean if he ever wanted to do something other than hunt. 'Visit Disneyland' had been his mocking answer before Sam had dropped the subject with an adolescent huff.

While Sam had never outright said it, for fear of recrimination no doubt, it was painfully obvious to John that his son did not want this life for himself. Truth be told, if he felt he'd had any other choice then he wouldn't want it for either of his sons. It came like a blessing when Sam got his out the week after his fifteenth birthday.

They had been staying in a New York suburb for the past two months, plenty of work coming from the city and it was easy enough to get a part time job for both he and Dean at a local garage to bring in some actual hard earned cash. Sam had been enrolled in the local high school and as usual strolled onto the soccer team. It looked like he would finish the school year at a school he'd been at for longer than a week, which was a first - the length of time he'd spent at the school was already a record if he didn't include the months at a time he and Dean had been 'home schooled'.

John was sitting at the meagre dining table of the tiny two bedroom apartment they were renting pouring over the local papers hoping for something to jump out at him - figuratively - after the last 'job' had been nothing more than rats as opposed to the poltergeist he'd suspected, and while he was an exterminator of sorts rats really weren't his area of expertise. Dean had been trying to get as many shifts as possible at the garage, even going to far as to beg Marty the garage owner to put him in full time. John still had no idea why exactly Dean was so keen to work and when he'd asked all his son had said was 'money'.

A familiar thud alerted John to Sam's return from school - why the kid couldn't just keep his keys in his pocket so he wouldn't have to spend ten minutes searching through his bag every day just to open the door was far beyond John's comprehension - as smart as his son was, commonsense seemed to elude him sometimes. The door swung open and John watched Sam lean down to heft the heavy still open backpack off the ground with a quiet grunt before he stepped over the threshold.

"Hey Sammy," John closed the paper over - another bust - and kicked out the chair opposite him giving his son the indication to sit. "How was school?"

Sam sat dutifully, thumping the backpack down on the table covering the newspapers."Fine," it was the standard answer which on occasion was followed by the intellectual 'school-ish'. Sam reached up and into the bag, pulling out books and folders until he found what he was looking for - a half crumpled piece of A4 paper and handed it to his father. "Can you sign this, there's a tournament on Saturday, bunch of schools from nearby. It's a couple towns over so they need your permission to let me play."

John felt kind of ashamed of the embarrassed look his son was sporting, it was the one thing Sam was really passionate about - he was smart and he did well in school but he was hardly passionate about it, soccer he was and John knew he had failed a little in encouraging his son. He'd always supported Dean in his love of cars, but he understood that one - they shared that passion whereas soccer was Sam's thing, and his only.

"Sure Sam," he hoped the smile was encouraging, but in all honestly it was a little hard to tell if Sam would get that or if he'd just find it creepy. "Maybe i'll make it out to watch you play," that was definitely surprise he saw on Sam's face and that stung a little, John was pretty sure he got a failing grade in Fathering Sam Winchester 101.

"You, uh, you don't have to, I mean I know you're busy and Dean'll probably be there anyway."

Ah yes, Dean. The kid worked twice as much and twice as hard at the garage than he did and then came home for midnight research, yet somehow he always found time to moonlight as Sam's surrogate father. John decided a little more effort was due on his part, if to assuage his guilt just a bit.

"Do you want me there?"

"Well, yeah. It'd be cool."

"Then I'll be there," and John sent a silent prayer to anyone that would listen that Sam didn't mention that fact that he'd always wanted him there and he'd never bothered to show up.

Someone must have been listening because even if Sam was about to bring it up they were interrupted by a jangling of keys and Dean's appearance accompanied by the smell of oil.

"You stink," Sam said, earning a smack to the back of his head when Dean came up behind him.

"Sammy's got a soccer thing on Saturday," John waved the permission slip in the air in the hope that it'd distract Dean from starting WWIII with his brother - while petty brotherly squabbles could be entertaining and a bit endearing they had a tendency to get tedious and if history was right; violent.

Dean plucked the paper from John's hand and read it over, nodding along with what he was reading. "Okay, I've got a morning shift at the garage so I'll only have time to drop you off but I'll make it back to see you play some."

Dean put the paper down on the table and smiled at his brother, all thoughts of waging an unholy war upon him forgotten for the moment.

"It's okay Dean I can take him."

There was that surprised look again and dammit he was really getting sick of seeing that.

"Don't you have a shift on Saturday too?"

Well shit, did he? It was entirely possible, but he sure as hell wasn't about to back out on Sam less than five minutes after making the grandest of gestures and looking at the schooled look on Sam's face - the one that he pulled on in an attempt to hide his disappointment, the one John had seen far too many times - work be damned he was going to watch his son kick a ball around a field.

"No, I'm free all day," at least he knew for sure he would be after tomorrow when he called in all the favours in the world he needed to in order to be free.

"Huh, okay."

Dean shrugged and finally pulled out a chair and sat. He stuck a hand in Sam's bag and pulled out a pair of well worn, shabby looking cleats. Dean turned them over in his hands a few times, inspecting them inside an out, his hands getting covered in bits of dirt and grass in the process.

"Aren't these a bit small for you?" Dean asked, a hint of accusation in his tone though John wasn't quite sure where that was coming from. Sam let his shoulders rise and fall in a shrug.

"They still fit okay, maybe a bit tight."

Dean pursed his lips and nodded slowly, his eyes still on the boots and Sam watched him carefully.

"So what do you boys want for dinner?"

"What do we have?" Sam looked from Dean to his father.

Good question. It'd been a fair few days since they'd made a shopping run so there wouldn't be much - if anything - that was fresh, meaning they were relegated to whatever they had in the freezer or tinned food. Their cupboards really were a sorry state of affairs, soup, beans and a couple of packs of instant noodles. John sighed and looked at his youngest.

"Take out?"

"I'll go shopping tomorrow," Dean ever the caretaker leaned over and ruffled Sam's hair. "I don't have work so I can get us stocked up again."

"Thanks son," John smiled over at Dean but damn, every time his son stepped into that father role it felt like someone was slowly castrating him and John waved a mental goodbye to his gonads.

When Saturday rolled around there was the inevitable awkward morning shuffle. The whole one car between them was becoming more and more of an issue and the only solution was another car - which none of them could exactly afford. Dean had figured he'd walk or get the bus to the garage, but then realised as he watched his brother stumble around still half asleep wearing only his team's shorts, that there would be no way for him to get from the garage to the school grounds where the mini-tournament was being held.

"I could drop you off at the school and drive over when I finish?" Dean suggested as he reached out to gently steer Sam from walking into a wall in his half dead state - the poor kid was never one for early mornings, it'd taken him three attempts to get his shirt on the right way around (first it had been backwards and inside out, then it had been just backwards - third time lucky) and Dean was pretty sure his brother was just going to crawl into the backseat of the Impala and fall right back to sleep with his face smooshed up against the window.

"Sounds good," John nodded from his position by the toaster, waiting for it to pop up with toasted bread-y goodness.

"Oh for God's sake Sam!" came Dean's exasperated exclamation as he looked at his brother now sat on the tattered couch pathetically trying to shove random books in his bag as if he were going to school. "You're going to a school, not school school. Give."

Dean thrust out a hand in Sam's direction and was handed the backpack. Throwing the books that had been haphazardly shoved into the bag out and onto the table in the living room before he started filling it with more sensible things, like a couple of bottles of water from the fridge and freshly laundered sweats. Walking by the front door he picked up a pair of sneakers and threw them onto the couch next to Sam.

"Put them on, and if I catch you putting them on the wrong feet I'm going to tell Janice Hollis that you have a crush on her."

Sam woke pretty quick then, grabbing the sneakers and getting them on the right feet first try - even if he did stumble slightly when he tried to walk to the kitchen forgetting that laces really should be tied. The threat of Janice was one Dean knew to be effective, she was the sister of Kenny who played on the team with Sam and she'd made her attraction to Sam quite clear - if the screaming of his name during games hadn't clued him and Dean in then the constant waving for his attention whenever he stood on the sidelines had. It was kind of unfortunate really, he was sure she was a nice girl - if a little forward - and he'd never been one to judge a book by it's cover but most books didn't have the face of a rabid pitbull.

"Coffee?" Sam almost pleaded looking at John while he buttered his overcooked toast (what exactly was the deal with that dial on the toaster anyway, he could have it on 6 and get warm bread, turn it to 3 and get ash for breakfast - it made no sense unless it was possessed and John was not about to exorcise a toaster just so he could get some nice brown toast).

"Sorry kiddo, don't want it stunting your growth."

John heard Dean snort somewhere in the background but he ignored it along with the pleading look on his youngest's face.

"You said when I reached six foot then I could," the petulance in his voice made John want to laugh. He might be hitting that six foot mark but he was still only 14 and John Winchester had not expected when he'd made that deal that he'd have a six foot tall 14 year old. Heck six months ago he'd never have believed it, Sam seemed to have shot up a foot overnight.

"Tell you what," John placed a hand on Sam's head and smiled. "If you're still six foot tall when you're 18 then we'll talk."

"What if I get taller?" Dean snorted again and Sam smiled back at his father.

"Unless you shrink between now and your 18th you can start drinking coffee then okay?"

Sam laughed and nodded, now pretty much fully awake and ready to get going. As was Dean if his position by the door, Sam's backpack slung over one shoulder, gave any indication.

In the car Sam started going through his bag just to check he had everything - not that he didn't trust Dean after all Dean had been a bit more copus mentus than he had been. Pulling a towel, sweats, water, boots and spare jersey out in a quick inventory.

"Hey Sammy, where'd you get them?" John asked, twisting around in the passenger seat to indicate the cleats which were vastly different from the ones that had been pulled out of his bag a few days before.

"Uh, Dean got me them. They're great, fit much better than the other ones."

John turned to his eldest who kept his eyes fixed on the non-existent Saturday morning traffic. "Early birthday present," he said dismissively.

Goodbye man-parts, hello vagina.

Dean dropped them outside the sprawling campus of a school much better funded than the one Sam was enrolled in. There were little groups gathered outside the main entrance and the two Winchesters headed that way, Sam turning to wave quickly at the Impala's retreating form before he took the lead and lead them to a group that contained some of his teammates, their parents and the team coach.

The coach was not like the ones John had known in his youth. He was in his mid thirties, fit and wearing tracksuit pants with a poloshirt. He smiled and high-five'd Sam when he approached before turning his attention to John.

"You must be Sam's Dad yeah?" John nodded and shook the coach's hand when it was thrust out towards him. "Derek Ross, nice to finally meet you. Sam is a really good player."

John turned to see his son blush slightly, he had the same look on his face whenever John would tell him he did well with weapons or translating some latin script.

"We've got him in midfield but he's built like a defender, not that the goals he's scored would indicate that."

And the praise just kept coming didn't it? As did the raising flush on his son's cheeks.

"You play a lot with him when he was younger?"

"Uh no," John said, caught a little off guard and by the looks of it so was Sam.

"Oh, guess he's just naturally talented then," Ross smiled wide and looked over the rest of the people gathered around him. "Not that the rest of you aren't."

There was a small smattering of laugher from the rest of the group but John and Sam stayed silent.

"Okay people, how about we head around to the field and warm up?"

Everyone nodded and as the coach headed off the rest followed with the Winchesters bringing up the rear.

"So you're quite good huh?"

"I suppose, I mean I really like playing and I score some but I'm not that good."

"We'll see," John bumped his shoulder off Sam's in an uncharacteristic gesture that seemed to take Sam by surprise. "Can't be worse than you are at car maintenance."

Sam laughed, yeah there were some things that he'd just never get and cars was one of them. It was like looking into an open human chest cavity, he could just about make out what things were supposed to be but ask him to perform surgery and he'd sooner fill said cavity with his own stomach contents. Not that he'd actually done so when looking under the hood of the Impala but the urge had been there, especially with Dean watching. Sam was under the impression that if he so much as looked at the Impala wrongly then he'd end up in traction.

John made his way up to sit at the very top of the bleachers away from the rest of the spectators, memories of his high school days flooding back. Mary had watched him from the bleachers when he'd played baseball, sitting right at the back so he could always find her.

Sam was surrounded by teammates listening intently to the coach for a few minutes before taking off running down to the opposite end of the field and then back, as each boy arrived back where they'd started they were thrown a ball to warm up with.

There were four schools there and all four teams were trying to cram in warm ups on the same pitch. Balls flew in every direction and the players spent more time giving stray balls back that actually warming up. Off to one side the coaches had gathered to have a meeting of the minds as far as John could tell, at some point teams had been drawn and the players called off the pitch.

Some players headed back onto the field while the rest made their way up into the bleachers, Sam included - his eyes searching the stands for his father, he smiled when he caught sight of him and bounded up with energy.

"McAndrews and Fotheringham are playing first," Sam announced as he sat, the studs on his boots making clacking noises every time he moved his feet. "We'll play Lincoln after, then whoever wins from the two games will play."

"So you might end up playing again straight after you've finished? Doesn't seem fair."

"No," Sam shook his head. "I think they plan on feeding us after the first two games."

"You play any of these teams before?"

"All of them, well the team has - I've only played McAndrews."

"Any good?" John asked, not that he would be able to tell himself, soccer wasn't really his sport of choice. The only way he'd be able to tell if a team was playing well was through the scoreline and he knew from basketball that a scoreline wasn't always the best indicator. You could play terribly and still get a few lucky baskets, he imagined it was the same for soccer.

"They are alright, kind of physical."

"I'm sure you can take them," John joked and was about to continue when the whistle blew and the referee, dressed all in black shuffled back to allow kickoff.

The first game ended with a 2:0 win for Fotheringham but John was pretty sure he'd just witnessed war. Sam hadn't been lying about McAndrews being a physical team, one player from Fotheringham having to substituted with what was quite possibly a broken ankle. John knew his boy was tough and could hold his own but even he wouldn't want to go up against them, it was lucky the other team had eventually won with a couple of late goals.

Sam stood when the teams started filing in from the field battered and bruised - half literally the other half metaphorically. The crowd in the bleachers stood along with Sam and clapped as the players made their way to the sidelines.

"Good luck son," John patted Sam's shoulder and gave a little shove to send him on his way.

"Thanks Dad," Sam smiled back at his father and then clattered his way down to the field. John was not going to think about how odd the word 'Dad' had sounded coming from his son, wasn't going to think about it at all. Maybe a little. Okay in all fairness it was most likely the only thing that would be going through his mind throughout the game. At least he thought it would've been but he ended up a little distracted.

When the game kicked off, out came cameras and camcorders from the proud parents looking to get footage of their prides and joy just like in the last match. A few rows in front John noticed that one of the 'parents' had once again taken out their camcorder and started filming the second game just as he had done the first. It was odd John thought. Maybe he was capturing it for all the schools involved.

After the first ten minutes, camcorder guy stopped filming the game as a whole and started following individual players; namely Sam Winchester.

John watched the guy with the camera follow his son's movements up and down the field, saw him turn to his companion and point out Sam as he jumped into the air in an attempt to chest down the ball while trying to shrug off a member of the other team who held a vice like grip on the back of his shirt. The whistle blew as Sam came crashing down almost crushing his opponent - not that the referee seemed to care since he brandished a yellow card at the crushed boy. The small gathered crowd which was mostly made up of parents with a small smattering of students erupted into noise, cheers and boos for the ref.

At halftime the camcorder was stopped and placed beside its owner who started talking with his companion once again. One of the kids who had played in the last game - judging by the drastic change of outfit John figured he had been on the loosing side - made his way towards the camera man and sat beside the companion. The companion threw his arm over the boy in consolation. So at least they weren't just pervs, that made John feel slightly better except the fact they were with a kid that'd been playing didn't explain the filming of the other game or the fact that John was adamant that Sam had been camcorder guy's focus.

John Winchester was not knowledgeable when it came to soccer, he just about understood that the round thing went in the net thing but even he saw that his son had talent. It was maybe a little difficult to showcase when the rest of the team weren't at the same level, Sam would land a perfectly timed tackle to gain possession of the ball only to have a teammate loose it five seconds later.

The second half started and the camcorder came back up and started following Sam again. Weird. John ended up spending more time staring at the guy with the camera that he missed most of the action on the pitch.

Twenty minutes from the end of the game John spotted Dean strolling around, catching a stray ball as it flew out of play only to throw it back to the closest player and throw a wave out to Sam.

Dean's eyes squinted almost shut as he looked up into the stands to try and find his father, the midday sun glaring down on him making it difficult to make much out other than bright light. It was good weather for mid-April, it was by no means hot but the sun did spread its warmth across the whole area. A blessed cloud strayed into the path of the sun dimming the glare enough for Dean to actually see his father sitting in the stands.

"How's he doing?" Dean asked when he sat next to John, pulling his feet up to rest on the bench in front.

John shrugged a response, it had been pretty equal throughout the game with each team having a few shots on goal but it was as if the best players on the pitch were the goalkeepers. Or that the ones shooting had really bad aim, John wasn't quite sure but the last time he'd checked the idea was to have the ball go into the net that sat between the white sticks - some shots had made it seem more like the aim of the game was to knock someone out in the crowd.

"His team aren't great, he's pretty good though," Dean groaned when another shot went well wide of its target and the shooter lifted a hand in a 'my bad' motion. "The only way he scores on this team is if he goes it alone or from a set piece, he's two foot taller than the rest of the kids out there so he's good in the air."

Whatever Dean had just said John was sure made sense in some kind of universe but it was really not one he currently inhabited - he nodded as if he understood though.

"You have no idea what I just said," he snorted and John thought Dean really was too perceptive for his own good sometimes.

"Soccer's not really my sport Dean."

"Yeah well it's Sam's so how about you try and get it?"

Well damn, yep those balls were definitely gone for good now. Hacked off with sharps words wielded by his parental son.

"So his team are kind of shit," John really wanted to give a parental 'swearing's bad' look, but his newfound lack of testicles seemed to prevent that. "He gets in a good position to score but they can't get the ball to him, or when he's looking for someone to pass to they are off tying their laces, chasing butterflies or some shit. So about the only time he gets to score is when there is a free kick or a corner kick and the ball is passed directly to him to head into the goal."

"Okay," still didn't make much sense but okay.

The ball was kicked hard on the pitch, sent flying towards Sam who was running already and sent it onwards with a single kick. The ball reached number 4 and the moment it did a whistle blew but he continued on and fired it into the net. No one celebrated though and John found himself even more confused. Which Dean seemed to pick up on even though his eyes were trained on the field of play.

"Offside," and once again that made a whole lot of sense to someone that wasn't John Winchester.

Five minutes from the final whistle and relief came in the form of what Dean had called a corner kick. A tiny kid that could have only come up to Sam's knee jogged over to one of the flags at the corner of the pitch, placed the ball down and then put all effort into striking it into the group of gathered players around the goalmouth. Everyone leapt up but Sam stood well above the rest and met the ball with his head sending it into the net. People in the stand started cheering but they were drowned out by Dean's yelling and John felt compelled to join in.

"So that wasn't offside?"

Dean laughed and shook his head while still clapping, hands high above his head.

"No that was perfect," Dean sat back down and turned to John sporting a huge grin. "See, I told you he was good."

"Yeah, yeah he is."

He was, but that didn't help the team so much when they lost the final game. Fotheringham having recovered from their run in with McAndrews. No one could complain, they were the better team and even with Sam's help his team were simply outclassed - much like the future opening game of the World Cup. Fotheringham were Brazil and Sam was the Ally McCoist to his Scotland.

Sam took the defeat in his stride, it was one among many for him with the team that had earned a reputation as being the whipping boys - an easy place to win points.

His birthday passed by with barely any comment, a real non-rat related hunt popping up and hogging the Winchester time just like every other year. It was a week later though the things started to get interesting for the Winchesters, because nothing was ever interesting for them. They led boring normal lives. Ha.

"Winchester," John grabbed the phone receiver that was being held out to him by Conrad, the bosses kid that when his father was absent tended to act like he owned the place. "Sure I can come in, give me twenty."

He hung up the phone and nearly crashed into Conrad when he turned, the kid standing way too close for comfort and if he kept that up he'd find himself attached to John Winchester's fist.

"There's an issue with my kid at school."

"And what are we supposed to do while you're gone huh? We've got two overhauls to do and no one to do them if you leave."

John was sorely tempted to introduce his foot to Conrad's ass or ask what he planned on doing for the day other than fuck all.

"Call Dean in."

"He's already got the afternoon shift."

"Well now he's got another shift, he'll be happy about that," John didn't continue with what he'd wanted to say. Ever since Manny had left the garage for a trip out west to pick up some old wreck he wanted to restore Conrad had been terrorising the place and had stalwartly refused to give Dean any overtime.

John cleaned off his oil slicked hands on a towel before the threw it down and walked out.

When he arrived at the school office Sam was sat in the reception looking sullen and just a little bored but he stood to attention the moment he noticed his father.

"Dad I have no idea what this is about," he was ernest, that was a plus. So whatever he'd done it hadn't been intentional. Oh God was this another repeat of Kirkville? When was the kid going to learn that keeping knives in lockers, while good for a hunter, it wasn't so practical for a high school student.

"It's alright I'll get this straightened out," John placed a comforting hand on his son's shoulder and pushed him back into the chair he'd been sitting in. "Don't worry."

Don't worry? Christ. What the hell excuse had he used back in Kirkville? Or Branton? Oh yeah he'd claimed Dean was suicidal and Sam was just trying to keep all temptation away. Yeah, pathetic. But he'd teared up a bit and they'd bought the poor tortured single father crap. Of course Dean had still been in school at that point and they'd made him see a counsellor, both times. John was still kind of surprised that Dean only stopped talking to him for a month after that.

"John Winchester, someone called me," he spoke to the receptionist who was looking intently at a computer screen that he was sure was from the 80's.

"John Winchester," she spoke into an intercom and managing to sound pleasant despite the scowl marring her face.

Seconds later the door pronouncing itself as the 'principal's office' opened and a haggard man in his fifties - whose hair looked like it'd last seen a comb the same day he'd bought the ancient computer sitting on the receptionist's desk.

"Mr Winchester," he stepped forward offering his hand in a shake. "Principal Hayes, come in."

John looked back at his nervous son offering what he hoped was a reassuring smile and followed Hayes into the office.

Coach Ross stood by the principal's desk facing towards the door and another figure sat in one of the two chairs in front of the desk. When he sat in the free chair, mirroring the movement of the principal who too sat, he noticed that the other man was the same guy at the soccer tournament with the camcorder.

"What's this about, you've got my son scared shitless he's done something wrong," he aimed for threatening, and judging by the slight cower from the principal he'd hit his mark.

"Oh no," Hayes rushed to appease the angered Winchester. "Far from that, Mr. err-"

"Hajdarovic," creepy camcorder guy spoke.

"Yes, indeed. He is a err-"

"Scout."

"Right, a scout and he noticed your son at the recent tournament."

"No offence but Sam isn't really much of a boy scout," which was hardly true, his knot tying skill were stellar and when it came to archery and camping the boy was a pro.

"Talent scout," came the thickly accented response from Mr. Whadyamacallit. "I am a talent scout for some soccer teams in Europe. I was watching my nephew play at the game. Your son is very talented, I showed footage of his play to teams and there was some interest."

"Interest?"

"A top European team are willing to give Sam a trial Mr. Winchester," Ross spoke up and when John glanced his way he had an excited look on his face. "This is a fantastic opportunity for him."

"Europe?"

"Yes, everything would be paid by the club - flights, accommodation, everything," Whateverhisnameis looked between the other three men in the room.

"Flights?"

"The trial would take place at the club grounds, they have state of the art facilities and onsite accommodation for trialists."

"Where?"

"Germany."

"He doesn't speak German," John was quite proud of himself now he'd managed more than one word.

"This would be a fantastic opportunity for him to learn another language!" Hayes enthused helpfully, gaining puzzled looks from everyone else.

"Maybe we should have Sam come in and you three can discuss this," Ross suggested looking to Hayes.

When Sam entered he was looking about as nervous as he did when John had tried to show him how to change a tire on the Impala. He stood awkwardly hovering around the door until the scout stood.

"Here," camcorder guy/scout/howeveryousayhisname indicated the chair he'd vacated and rounded the desk to sit in the principal's seat. "My name is Paul Hajdarovic."

Paul? Fucking Paul?

"Hi," Sam sat and shifted his backpack around on the floor with his feet, trying to kick it beneath the chair.

"Sorry if we had you worried," Paul at least had the sense to look genuine in his apology and John found it strange that his whole demeanour had changed from when he'd spoke with him. "I saw you play soccer recently, you are very good."

"Um, thanks," Sam's response sounded more like a question than anything else.

"I am a talent scout, I work mostly in Eastern Europe but I have been visiting family here. My nephew plays for McAndrews. I showed some footage of your game against Lincoln High to a few teams I scout players for."

"Oh." Sam looked over at John with a confused look, John didn't know how to reassure his son and he doubted the shrug he supplied was very helpful.

"Have you heard of Bayern Munich Sam?"

"I don't really know much about soccer," came Sam's embarrassed reply. "I just like playing it."

Paul gave him a warm smile. "That's okay, Bayern Munich are a very big club in Germany and they have shown quite a bit of interest in you."

"In me?" Sam turned once again to his father, this time with a look of shock - not that he received a better response this time. "What kind, what sort of interest?"

"They would like you to visit them, play some games and train with their other young players."

"When?"

"Well if your father gives the go ahead then anytime within the next few weeks. The trial would last a week and has to end before the 1st of July, that's the day they sign new players."

"I uh, don't think," Sam floundered, looking down and picking at some imagined loose thread on his pants. "I don't think we could afford that."

And damn if Dean hadn't already hacked his balls off John would have gladly done it himself hearing the sad resignation in his youngest boy's voice and the realisation that his idea of 'providing for his sons' was little more than keeping a roof over their heads - and sometimes it had been a pretty fucking leaky one. He reached a hand out to softly touch his son's shoulder, in comfort and apology.

"They are gonna pay everything for you, you just have to go," and if John never had to hear Sam speak with that sadness again he would let him go, if that was what his son wanted he'd let him chase his passion. After all maybe it would make up for all those crappy decisions that had left them with no money, no real home and only a mission. His son didn't deserve a mission, he deserved his dream.

And that was how Sam Winchester's German adventure began, an adventure that had him fighting ghosts with the non-help of some teammates, had him claiming German citizenship and pulling on the jersey of his adopted home just in time for the 2006 World Cup, had him almost winning the Champions League in 2010 and then less than two months later hoisting the most coveted trophy in the world above his head in celebration as a winner of the World Cup.


End file.
